Chapter 112: The Captivating Painting

On the stage, Locas’s movements were as graceful as a fluttering butterfly, making her presence extraordinarily eye-catching.

The artists surrounding her had stopped their brushes, and some had even spilled their pigments onto the floor, yet no one seemed to care; they were all staring blankly at Locas’s canvas. As the people closest to her, they had the clearest view of her work.

Locas had been painting with such incredible speed that, at first, the other artists nearby had assumed she was merely scribbling aimlessly. It was precisely because of this assumption that they had glanced at her work—only to be instantly ensnared by the image, their eyes unable to look away.

The painting had no background—perhaps she hadn't had time to add one, or perhaps none was intended—but from what she had rendered so far, it resembled half of a blood-stained figure. The figure appeared plain at first glance, yet it possessed a grip on the viewer's attention that felt suffocating, growing more eerie the longer one stared.

The upper torso was a vivid, visceral crimson, featuring a head with a truly terrifying and hideous expression. Countless streams of blood-red energy seemed to drip down, mimicking the flow of fresh gore. Behind the figure hovered a multitude of human faces, resembling the vengeful spirits of those who had met a violent end.

In short, it was horror—absolute, extreme horror; the kind that would take one's breath away at a single glance.

By now, the other artists on stage were pale with fright, their muscles locked in tension. They couldn't even move, let alone flee. Their bizarre behavior naturally drew the attention of the audience, though most were merely curious about the performers' oddity or, at best, wondering what Locas was painting. No one else had yet noticed the content of the work.

However, while others might ignore the strange behavior of the students, their instructors would not tolerate them standing idly by. Impatient, several instructors began calling out in hushed tones from the sidelines: "What are you doing? Start painting! Even if you can't win, you have to produce something!"

When they realized their students were ignoring them entirely, they raised their voices: "Hurry up and paint!"

But they could have shouted until their throats were raw; the students on stage remained as unresponsive as statues, continuing to stare blankly at Locas’s painting, fixed and motionless, creating an unsettling atmosphere.

Finally, one instructor, unable to bear it any longer, marched onto the stage and tapped his student on the shoulder. "What is wrong with you? Have you forgotten how to paint?"

The student looked as if they had been possessed by a malevolent spirit. Their eyes were bloodshot, and their movements were stiff and sluggish. They turned to give the instructor a single, vacant glance before immediately snapping their head back to stare at Locas’s canvas.

The instructor’s curiosity was piqued, and he cast a glance at the painting. In that instant, his pupils constricted, and like the students before him, he fell into a trance, standing perfectly still as he gazed at Locas’s work.

Such an eerie scene was inevitably noticed by everyone in the room. Though they didn't understand the cause, one thing was certain: Locas and the painting she was creating were far from ordinary.

***

At this moment, the principals of the other schools turned to the principal of Saint Mildo Academy.

"What exactly is going on with your school's representative?"

How could the principal not know? He knew it must have something to do with the "Cursed Painting" that Zhang Wanghui had given him, which he had then passed on to Locas. Beads of sweat began to form on his brow, though his years of composure helped him maintain a facade of calm.

"Haha, perhaps my student is simply too talented."

His laugh was so strained that the other principals instantly sensed something was wrong.

"Why do you seem so nervous?"

"Do I?" The cold sweat on the principal's forehead was now beyond his control, dripping down his face.

"Why would you be nervous? Is there something wrong with your student?"

"Of course not, ha-ha, you really are joking." The principal’s body began to tremble slightly; to the others, he looked as if he had just stepped out of a shower, drenched from head to toe.

"Don't tell me that the girl representing your school has something to do with that 'Cursed Painting' we’ve heard of."

At the mention of this, the principal began to shake violently. He looked utterly disturbed, yet even so, his resolve remained as hard as steel.

"What Cursed Painting? Why are you all acting so absurd?"

The more the principal denied it, the less the others believed him. They could not help but glance toward Locas. There was a problem—a massive problem—and it was highly likely linked to the Cursed Painting.

If Locas had merely seen the painting, the worst-case scenario would be her own demise. But if she had seen it and was now painting a cursed work of her own... that would be catastrophic! What if someone else accidentally saw it, became cursed, and started painting their own cursed works? It would be an infinite loop of doom, perhaps even the end of the world!

Without time for further deliberation, the principals huddled together and decided they must inform the influential figures of the art world. These dignitaries, who had attended the recent Horror Art Exhibition, had actually noticed that something was amiss on stage, but out of concern for their own status, they had refrained from investigating.

"What do you think is happening with that student from Saint Mildo? Why does everyone who sees her painting just freeze up?"

"Who knows? But can anything really be more terrifying than those paintings that flew around and killed people the other day?"

***

"I told you, that was a hallucination! Can we stop talking about it?"

"Just because you're a fool doesn't mean we are. I don't believe in any hallucination that makes a whole group of people see the exact same thing."

As they debated, they suddenly noticed the various principals approaching them.

"What is it?"

The man in the lead faltered, completely unsure of how to broach the subject. How could he possibly explain this in the current situation? Should he just announce that the representative from Saint Mildo was painting a cursed work and trying to hex them all? Who would believe that? They might even think he had lost his mind.

"What is it? Speak!"

Pressed for an answer, his thoughts spiraled into chaos. Knowing he had to say something, he blurted out, "The representative from Saint Mildo is painting a Cursed Painting, and she wants to curse every one of us!"

His voice was loud enough for many to hear. Heads turned in their direction, faces filled with terror. But the most horrified of all were the influential figures in the art world. After all, they were the ones who had truly encountered the so-called Cursed Paintings and considered themselves the most knowledgeable about them.

Hearing the principal's words, they instinctively looked toward the stage. Seeing that Locas was still painting, they let out a small sigh of relief.

"Who did you hear that from?"

In their eyes, those paintings were supposed to be able to fly and kill; it was impossible for one to be created live on stage, right?

Just then, a cry of alarm rang out.

"The representative from Saint Mildo seems to have finished! Look! What is she about to do?"